


because you're frightened

by mozpod



Category: The Smiths
Genre: Homophobia, Johnny is a Tuff Guy, M/M, Morrissey is worried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozpod/pseuds/mozpod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny has an encounter with some fellas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because you're frightened

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't edited this at all so sorry in advance for any typos etc.

     Morrissey paced back in forth; sofa, bookshelf, repeat. It was getting late. Johnny had gone over to Andy’s a few hours ago, and he still wasn’t home. About an hour ago, when he had started to get worried, Morrissey had phoned Andy, and Andy had sworn up and down that Johnny had already left. Andy lived, at most, a 20 minute walk from their street. Where on earth was he?

     The minutes slowly ticked by, each passing tick increasing Morrissey’s panic. It was dark out, and he had forgotten to turn the lights on. Back and forth, back and forth. Johnny would be okay. One foot in front of the other. He could take care of himself. Tick tick tick. God, when Johnny finally made it home Morrissey was going to be _so angry_ with him. Bookshelf, sofa, bookshelf, sofa.

     There was a faint thump. The sound of someone or something hitting the heavy front door. Morrissey paused, listening carefully. Several moments passed, and then a faint scratching was heard. A key entering the lock. A click, and the person was in. Another pause. Slow steps, heeled boots making their way up wooden stairs. Finally, the person made it up to the flat’s door. It had to be Johnny. Was he drunk? Had he really gone out _drinking_ , leaving Morrissey to fret and worry? Morrissey angrily made his way to the door and yanked it open.

     Johnny was there, leaning against the frame. But he wasn’t drunk, as Morrissey had feared. This was much worse.

     “Oh… _oh God._ "

     There was blood dripping from several places. Johnny’s nose was gushing out an alarming amount of red liquid, and the left side of his face was covered in small cuts, some of which were still oozing. His right eye was swelling. The arm not holding up the wall was wrapped around his ribcage.

     “Sorry I’m late, baby.” Johnny whispered.

     Morrissey didn’t respond. Instead he stepped forward and gingerly pulled Johnny’s body close to his own. Johnny whimpered, his tough facade shattering. The feeling of being home, safe in Morrissey’s arms, was too much. Johnny’s hands came up and grabbed tight handfuls of Morrissey’s shirt. He felt Morrissey pressing kisses to the top of his head and the side of his face.

     Eventually Morrissey realized they were still standing in their doorway, and that Johnny was now bleeding all over Morrissey’s shirt instead of his own. He drew Johnny into their flat, quietly closing the door behind him. 

     "Let's clean you up, hmm?" Morrissey murmured as he led Johnny to the bathroom. 

     Johnny gingerly settled himself on the toilet seat lid. He couldn't help but wince as his chest shifted. Immediately morrissey's level of concern went up several notches. 

     "Johnny... How, um, how bad is it?" His voice came out as a cracked whisper. 

     "I'm fine baby. I really am. Just been knocked around a bit. Nothing I can't handle." Johnny attempted a reassuring smile, but the movement stretched the cut on his lip, and the renewed stream of blood was gruesome rather than calming. 

     Well, if Johnny was going to be brave about this, so was Morrissey. He could at least do that. He gave a weak smile in  Johnny's direction before turning to wet a washcloth. Turning back around, he gently pressed the fingers of his left hand to Johnny's chin and brought the washcloth up to Johnny's face. Starting with his mouth, Morrissey gingerly wiped the new blood away before starting on the older, dried patches. 

     The washcloth soon went from white to brown, soaking up Johnny's blood and removing bits of dirt and gravel from his wounds. When he had finished, Morrissey reached under the sink for their small box of plasters. He attempted to assess which wounds most desperately needed protection, and then went about strategically placing the plasters over as much skin as possible. 

     Now that Johnny was in the best condition Morrissey could hope for, his mind naturally turned to the the reason Johnny had ended up in this state to begin with. The bathroom didn't seem to be the best place for a conversation of this kind. He offered Johnny his hand and walked the two of them back to the main room. Johnny immediately collapsed onto the sofa, pulling Morrissey down with him. Morrissey attempted to reposition them so Johnny wasn't putting any unecessary strain on his cuts and bruises. Suddenly, he realized he hadn't seen Johnny's chest, which was clearly causing him the most pain. Although hesitant to ask, he knew he had to check. Johnny had allowed his head to fall on Morrissey's shoulder, and seemed content to stay there. With a sigh, Morrissey nudged his boyfriend. 

     "May I see your chest? It's just that it seems to be causing you pain and I, I just have to know that you're okay."

     "Do I have to move?" Johnny grumbled. "It's fine Moz, don't worry about it."

     "Johnny please. I'm worried. I need to know what they did to you."

     "...Fine. But you are not allowed to freak out at me, alright? It looks much worse than it is." Johnny struggled to sit up, and made an attempt to pull his shirt over his head. "You're gonna have to help me with this. God, can't even get me own shirt off. How's that for humbling." 

     As he pulled the shirt up and over Johnny's head, Morrissey was met with the horrible purples and browns Johnny's chest had turned. It was mostly concentrated in one area, as if Johnny had been lying in the ground, curled in on himself, as his adversaries kicked his side with heavy boots. 

     "Oh... _fuck_. Johnny..." Morrissey's hands shook. He could picture it so clearly. Johnny, helpless and alone, waiting for the senseless brutality to stop. "Who did this to you? Tell me."

     "It's really nothing Mozza. Please, just...just let it go. I'm home, I'm okay. That's all that matters, right?" Johnny looked down, desperate to avoid the topic. 

     "Why won't you tell me? Johnny, what happened?"

     "...You won't like it"

     "There is nothing I like about this entire situation. Tell me."

     "Well, I was walking home from Andy's just, y'know, minding my own business, and I passed by this group of guys. Tough sort, probably should've avoided them, you know the type. Anyways, I was walking past them and I heard your name so I stopped. They, well, they weren't saying very nice things about you, and I'd had a bit to drink at Andy's, so I got angry. I know I should've ignored them, just kept walking, but I couldn't."

     "What, er, what were they saying?"

    "Really bad stuff, baby. One of the guys, uh, well, he called you a faggot. And a queer. They all laughed. It was just too much. I told them to shut up, that you'd done nothing to them, so why were they so hateful towards you?"

     "This is because of _me_?!" Morrissey cut him off. "What were you thinking! You, you don't need to always stand up for me. Neither of us are likely to ever see them again. Why would you put yourself in such pointless danger?"

     "Moz, I know what I did was stupid-"

     "It was more than stupid!" Morrissey cut him off. "I'm sorry, please continue."

    "There's not much else to tell. They were all like 'Oooh why are you so worried, huh? You in in love with him or something?' and I said 'What's it to you if I am?' And then they just went at me. I don't really remember much after that, but they finally left and I managed to drag myself to your door."

     They sat in silence for a moment. Johnny was putting on a tough exterior, but he was cracking. Although he did his best, soon he was shaking, and tears were making their way down his cheeks. The full trauma of the attack was finally hitting him. Slightly embarrassed, he shifted himself around and pressed close to Morrissey, who immediately became aware of the situation. 

     Morrissey stood up, which produced a distressed squeak from Johnny, and held out his hand. 

     "You must never do that again. I'd, well I'd much rather have you by side than have the approval of a bunch of ignorant _punks_. Promise me."

     "I promise, love. Never again." Johnny reached up and clasped his small hand around Morrissey's much larger one. With a heave, Johnny was up, and the two of them made their way to the bedroom. 

     Morrissey paused at the bedroom door and turned to face Johnny. 

     "Johnny... Thank you. I wish you hadn't done it, but thank you." He pressed a gentle kiss to Johnny's lips. "I love you. Even if you are a complete idiot sometimes."

     "May I remind you, Steven, that I'm not the only one in this relationship who can be a complete idiot sometimes." Johnny laughed. 

     After they had settled into bed, and Morrissey's cat with no name had curled up at their feet, Johnny whispered into the darkness. 

     "By the way, I love you, too, in case you were curious."


End file.
